


Clear Dreams and Nightmares

by AQLM



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Episode Related, F/F, Plot, Pre-Stream (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-19 14:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11899989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQLM/pseuds/AQLM
Summary: On the eve of the great battle with Vecna, the world prepares to face his evil and the horrors he may bring. Alas, the dreams of many soldiers - the Lady Kima included - are bent by his growing influence. She must prepare for tomorrow's war, but can she push past the battle in her own mind?





	1. Early to Bed, Early to Rise

The nascent powers of a fledgling god may vex even the stoutest of mortals, but they are dancing lights and vague shadows in the presence of the most awesome of dieties, Bahamut. Those who wear the Dragon’s sigil, who speak His name with pride, who worship Him with their deeds and valor, who count themselves among those honored chosen know how to bring Bahamut’s power to bear. They craft wards and armor, cast spells and draw runes, and surround themselves with His protection to keep the prying, insidious mind of Vecna from tearing them apart.

Safe within the keep of Allura Vysoren, the Lady Kima, esteemed champion of Bahamut and warrior of His light, slumbers fitfully. Before she allowed herself to rest, she repeated her enchantments and consecrated once more the hallowed ground upon which the home was built. She carved His form into the doorway and performed her evening meditation, then climbed into her bed. Vecna, his threat ever-growing, would find every passage into that home – magical, ethereal, or physical – barred by the colossal might of Bahamut. 

There are no wards, however, that will keep nightmares from tangling around the posts of the bed, sliding across the ornate wooden bedframe, and curling themselves into the recesses of Kima’s sleep. Such dreams are of her own making. No god need lend his aid.

They come when her mind is already disquiet and her legendary resolve diminished by waking burdens. There is no shame in nightmares, she has been taught. Those whose lives have been in safety and comfort rarely see things that would return to trouble them, unbidden, in the night. A soldier who has trudged through the hells and witnessed the wickedness of man has made memories of valor. Few sleep easy who have seen what they have seen and done what they have done. Reliving a horror survived is a mark of triumph, not weakness. She resents them, nonetheless.

Kima finds herself in the torture halls of the Cruel King, her body destroyed and violated by a man who thought to break her. She watches again the men and women she led forth murdered in front of her eyes. On the worst nights, she watches her love in the throes of the Feebleminded spell, all trace of intellect and personality erased in a single act of betrayal. She would prefer to relive those months in darkness and agony, she reflects when awake, than a single second of that powerless grief.

Kima does not wake up screaming. She does not sweat and thrash. She does not roll over and bury herself into the sleeping shoulder of Allura – the mage must rest, else her power is scantly restored. On most nights, Kima’s eyes flicker open and she recenters herself by observing the familiar stonework above the bed. She counts the inlaid pieces of tile and finds the blue piece of marble she chipped with a mighty and accidental swing of her weapon. She recalls Allura’s scolding and the happy penance Kima gladly performed that night after the incident. Though the room was restored in a flash of Allura’s magic, this piece resisted all mending. It became a focus of comfort, the memory and the familiarity allowing her to sleep once more.

If that does not suffice, she slips out of bed and proceeds into the small chapel dedicated to Bahamut’s worship. She will meditate and hope that stills the mind. If not, she will hone her sword’s ever-keen edge and recite The 27 Precepts of The Dragon. Usually by the end of the tenth, that on the nature of justice in an unjust world, she will be prepared to fall back to sleep. Should all 27 leave her lips and she find herself awake and uneasy, she will take the final step of putting on Bahamut’s armor and attempting to sleep in a small bed she keeps in her own quarters. It would be an uncomfortable sleep, but she knew from experience nightmares would have no hold on her.

Except she was already wearing her armor. She had not bothered with any of the usual techniques before bed. She had not even gone to Lady Allura’s bedchamber in their temporary quarters within Vasselheim. Instead, she would stay in the barracks near the Platinum Sanctuary. Kima was preparing for an awesome war against an unthinkable foe. Wearing anything less than her armor would be foolish – they could be asked to go at a moment’s time. That was the explanation she gave Allura, at least, and the mage did not dissent. She respected her Lady’s judgment. If there was a reason Kima would absent herself from their shared space, Allura would respect it. So what if the other reason was that Kima knew the nightmares would find easy purchase on a greatly disturbed mind?

They came, as predicted, an amalgamation of the horrors beneath the duergar city spliced together with the defiling of Allura’s mind. In this one, Kima was bound and watched in mute horror as the torturer took the hooks from Kima’s flesh and raked them, one by one, across the mage’s body. Kima’s ears filled with the screams of mercy and pain, mixed with a begging wish for her love to rescue her. Kima’s will was bound with tight iron and she could neither release the object of her desire or speak words of comfort. Within the depths of the dream, she found Bahamut’s truth and forced herself awake.

A bead of sweat trickled down Kima’s brow and she sat upward in the bed in the barracks. The candlelight told her just an hour had passed since she settled in for her uneasy sleep. It had seemed longer. It always did. She swung her feet around and got up, straightening the metal breastplate from where it dug familiarly into her neck. There would be no rest for now, it would seem.


	2. A Walk in the Streets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the streets of Vasselheim, the Lady Kima clears her head. She finds she is not alone and perhaps finds the answers she needs.

A few moments later she was on the muddy roads of Vasselheim. A city of this size was never silent but the preparation for the war against Vecna had swollen the streets with traffic even at this late hour. She had to wind her way through soldiers dividing themselves among the bastions and regiments preparing to deploy towards the western and southern accesses. The call of gryphons echoed above and the sky was alight with false-fire, bright enough for this to be sunset instead of the dead of night.

Some recognized her as she strode past the encampments. Her achievements in battle and her standing among Bahamut’s followers made her something of a folk hero. As such, more than a few called their respects or begged her favor as she passed them.

“A blessing, m’lady,” said a young woman with a smattering of freckles and the curved blue-black horns of a tiefling. Kima swallowed her retort – she was a paladin, not a cleric – and called upon Bahamut’s strength to guide the girl’s hand nonetheless. With a quick bow and an almost hidden flourish of the arcane, the sorcerer darted back into the crowds.

A few more steps. “Paladin of Bahamut, will you battle beside us on the morrow? Your aid and the might of the dragon god will surely turn the tide.” A dwarf clad in the armor of Clanggedin Silverbeard saluted her with respect.

Kima knew her place would be with Allura defending Emon and not on the front lines. That answer would not suffice given the setting.

“The might of Bahamut and my sword will always serve to battle evil,” she replied. “Even if I am not by your side, I will be against Vecna.” That satisfied the brown bearded man and he saluted her once again as she moved on. A scant few blocks later, she was once again waylaid.

“Lady Kima,” called an urgent, accented voice. She closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Lady Kima, please, can you show us the best way to pierce a dragon’s scales?”

A trio of human soldiers towered over her. The one who spoke indicated a stuffed straw target and thrust his sword into her hand unbidden. “Mihel says one must stab from above but I was taught you must go from the side.” The other two chattered their opinions with excitement with a few lobbed insults at their friend’s supposed ignorance.

She lifted the sword, swung it a few times, and frowned. “This is poorly weighted,” she observed. “It will neither strike true nor wound your enemy should you hit. It would be better for you to face a dragon bare handed than wielding it.”

Their talking stopped and the one who had given her the blade tried to tug it back from her hand, his face reddening. Kima squinted at him in the firelight. He was barely a man by human standards. A fuzz of blond hair stuck like tufts of grass from a rounded chin. His hands were calloused, not like a warrior’s but like a farmer’s, and his armor was ill-fitting and patched to the point of worthlessness. The other two were scarce better. They were a trio of children dressed up as fighters, more likely to slay an errant chicken than a dragon. She did not relinquish the sword.

“Where are you three from,” she asked.

“Ganshire, m’lady,” said one of the soldiers. “We were sent by our fathers…to…ah…settle a debt.”

She narrowed her eyes further and emitted a small growl. The three stepped back instinctively as she yanked the sword towards her and sat down on one of the logs that served as a bench. She began to unwrap the tattered leather pommel, banging the end on a pile of rocks until a few hunks of metal flew off. With a mighty rip, she pulled off some of her surcoat and used the thick cloth to re-wrap the end of the weapon, then stood once more. She maneuvered the sword expertly and stabbed it into the target, cleaving it in twain.

“Should you encounter a dragon, strike upward underneath the scales or, better yet, retreat to protect those whose weapons can pierce such a hide.” She handed the sword back to the awe-struck boy. “I shall send word to Ganshire that your fathers’ debts are more than paid by your presence here today. Bahamut wishes no blood sacrifice – I pity the man who thought otherwise.”

Kima strode away, shaking her head. What aristocrat’s son was spared conscription at the cost of these three young lives? What a waste. They were going to be thrown into Vecna’s fires like kindling – little light, little heat, leaving nothing but a whisper of ash. She cast off the thoughts. To die in Bahamut’s service was a blessing, she reminded herself. The reassurance rang hollow. She was comfortable giving her own life, as were all servants of Bahamut, but there was nothing noble about the death those children would face.

She kept walking, wrapping her cloak around her and concealing her face. She had no path in mind but she no longer wished to face the denizens of the city. Her goal was sleep, not a morale raising tour of Vasselheim’s ever-enlarging army.

A familiar melody sung in a familiar voice drifted past her ears. “Ohhh…ohhh…and the dwarf he took his greatsword and he thrust it in her hilt. And though he raged a torrent she saw none of it was spilt. She honed his weapon to and fro as the blade began to grow and grow…” A trill of flute punctuated the line as the gathered soldiers finished the bawdy verse. “Such was the power of the mighty swordsman.”

Kima covered her face with her palm. The irrepressible gnomish bard Scanlon had elected to spend his portion of the watch inspiring the troops. Tonight’s choice appeared to be “The Swordsman of the Deep”, a song no less famous and infinitely more inappropriate than the precepts of Bahamut. She smiled in spite of her aggravation. It was a rousing tune and based on the free laughter from the assembled men, it was having the exact effect the bard desired. They would sleep easier with the lyrics ringing in their ears and awake refreshed, ready to face the horrors Vecna would surely throw at them. A bard’s song could inspire a man – or woman, as she knew – to fight harder than they would if they were merely listening to the grunts of soldiers and the clash of steel.

To his left sat the gunsmith Percy, merrily singing along as he cleaned the barrel of Bad News, while the ranger Vex’halia buried her head in her hands in…perhaps feigned…mortification. The other members of their motley crew were unseen, likely resting nearby while these three took the first watch. Kima tolerated the song a few more moments before attempting to leave.

“Lady Kima,” shouted the gnome. She sighed and sagged within her armor. “Lady Kima, care to join us for a verse or three? Or does Bahamut forbid the singing of folk tunes?”

“Folk tunes,” sputtered Vex'ahlia. “Seriously? ‘The Trees of Westmarch’ is a folk tune. ‘Go Forth Young Elf’ is a folk tune. This is ridiculous portrayal of exaggerated sexual prowess. You should be ashamed to sing it in front of her!“

Scanlon pouted. “Aww, Vex. It’s all in good fun.”

Kima held up both hands to cease their squabbling. “Your defense is appreciated, Vex'ahlia, but not needed.” She pivoted towards Scanlon. “Bahamut’s laws are vague on the subject of the singing of bawdy tales. I rarely indulge as my duties seldom include nights drinking in taverns.”

“If you traveled with us further, Lady Kima, we could fix that,” replied Percy, looking up from his polishing cloth. “By my estimate, a good third of our adventures have been spent being drunk in some tav-oof.” The ranger reached over and whacked him in the stomach hard enough for the breath to get knocked out of him. “Hey! It’s true!”

Vex rolled her eyes dramatically. “You are absolutely incorrigible.”

“Which is why you love me,” he replied, waggling his shaggy eyebrows.

“If you mean in spite of…” she trailed off and smiled at him.

Kima repressed a smile herself. Allura had told her of the budding love among the members of Vox Machina, but it was quite another thing to see it in person. That indulgent smile was the same one Allura had worn for her on too many occasions. Love was a powerful weapon against evil, perhaps the best a man or woman could carry into a fight. Her face drooped. It hurt her heart to be away from her love especially when things were so dangerous. She shouldn’t be out here trying to walk off her nightmares. She should be resting and preparing.

The human gunsmith, ever perceptive, must have sensed a shift in her mood. “May I suggest a different song, Scanlon? Something a bit more fitting for the hour and our guest?”

The gnome looked puzzled but nodded his head slowly and then a bit more quickly as he glanced between Kima and Percy. Percy waved his hands in a subtle ‘hurry up’ gesture and the gnome had a slow look of dawning realization.

“Sure. Sure. I don’t usually do requests but I’ll make an exception today.” He winked at Kima, but she could see his usual lecherous leer was subdued. Perhaps it was respect for her relationship or his own secret love that mellowed him; regardless, she was grateful – it had been a dynamic she disliked.

He began another trill on his tin flute and then set into a stirring, martial tune. The humans seemed to recognize it and launched into the lyrics, some with their hands over their hearts. It was unfamiliar to Kima but the words struck deep and true. It spoke of homeland, victory, and conquest. It celebrated living for a cause and dying in its name. And when it came to the part about riding home to hearth and loved ones, Percy gestured towards Kima with a knowing smile and polite bow of the head.

“Give Allura our best and our thanks,” he said. “We are all glad you two will be defending Emon.”

Kima smiled in return, waved her goodbyes and godspeeds towards the other two members of Vox Machina, and disappeared back onto the streets of Vasselheim.

The bustle around her had subsided enough for her to slip unassailed back into the tavern. She went to her quarters and lay down once more. The lines of the songs echoed pleasantly in her head and she felt herself begin to drift. Then she blinked twice and sat up once again. She argued with herself, then left the chamber and found herself outside of Allura’s room. She raised her hand to knock on the door but Allura opened it before she could.

Kima shifted uneasily in the hallway and Allura smiled, shaking her head. “Come inside. It is drafty and my attire is not suitable for anyone but you.”

The wizard shut the door behind them, leaving Kima standing awkwardly in the room still clad in her armor and cloak. She eyed her wife suspiciously.

“Are you coming to bed my love,” Allura asked. “Or are the nightmares too much tonight?”

Kima’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“I always know,” replied Allura, turning away from Kima and slipping back beneath the covers. “You don’t think I notice when the woman I love is struggling?” She patted the empty space beside her. “Now, take off your armor and come back to me, my heart.”

Kima felt unsettled though she did as she was told.

“I have never wanted to disturb your sleep.”

She folded her cloak and her surcoat, grimacing as she looked at the torn edge. It had been a noble gesture to help mend that child-soldier’s weapon but now she would look a bit ridiculous when she put the garb back on. Others might wonder if she’d caught the end in a door. A tiny flicker of blue-green light surrounded the garment and it was whole again.

“Allura! You should not be using your magic wantonly when there are only so many hours left to rest!”

Allura turned over on her back. “I have been imbued with the arcane long enough to understand my limits. Stop trying to protect me.”

With a hefty clank, Kima removed the armor and set it on the chair. She crawled next to Allura, who wrapped an arm around her and kissed her head.

“I will always try to protect you, Allura,” replied Kima. “I never want you to suffer. I never want any harm to come to you.”

“And I love you for that. For now you can protect me best by letting me take care of you. You don’t think I know how to handle nightmares?” Allura’s laugh was muffled by Kima’s neck. Warmth spread over her body and sleep took the halfling a few minutes later. The only nightmares would be the ones they would both face tomorrow against Vecna, but for now, their dreams were clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The tune of The Dwarven Swordsman I envision sounding like the anti-Dartmouth chant sung by the Brown Band during hockey season. It contains such lines as: "The rink is pandemonium, the crowd is all around. So desperate for a woman that they grovel on the ground. The frat life is exciting - there's a brother for each man. And since there are no women there's a brother in each hand..."
> 
> The lyrics to the Brown variant are a parody of the actual Georgia Tech fight song, "Ramblin' Wreck from Georgia Tech." The tune is taken from Charles Ives' "Son of a Gambolier", which itself is a version of a Dwarven...er, I mean Scottish drinking song. 
> 
> \- The martial tune is perhaps something like the Battle Hymn of the Republic. Or Eye of the Tiger. Or whatever moves you.

**Author's Note:**

> Written while listening to Matt Mercer singing "Lost in the Waves" as Shigure from Fire Emblem: Fates
> 
> Name borrowed from the DBM bossmods.


End file.
